Chapter Forty
Three Hallows United, yet Divided
And forewarned is seldom forearmed. Not even in the shifting zones.
Dream in Fables and Reflections
Harry was dozing in the train when Ernie slammed the door open. He opened one eye, and closed it once more when he saw his friend.
“What did you get on your OWLs?” He asked excitedly, as sat down on the seat across form him, followed by Justin and Anthony.
“I’m sleeping.” Harry responded tiredly. Why Sirius let him drink last night? Wasn’t the man supposed to discourage that sort of behavior?
“You were sleeping. Now your telling us how you did on your OWLs,” replied Justin.
Harry groaned. “Fine. I passed all my subjects, and I got an “O” in Defense and Charms. Now leave me alone, I want to get some sleep, or else I might fall asleep during the feast.” He heard the others snicker as they left the compartment.
Mrs. Weasley would have been appalled at Sirius’ lack of parenting skills, which had offered to share a bottle of Firewhiskey with him the previous night. Harry balked initially, but there was a strange look in his eyes that led Harry reach for the bottle. It wasn’t quite desperation, more like nervous energy. Harry hadn’t really confessed anything embarrassing when he drank; but admitted that Sirius had ended up being one of the few people he really trusted. Sirius had hit the bottle heavily and had blurted out everything that came to his mind.
“I can feel it coming, you know. It was the same thing when your parent’s died. I didn’t feel right and I went to their house and they were dead and gone. Poof. Something’s going to fall apart.” He said this miserably, before throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulder. “But its okay. I’ll be there if you need me. I know it.”
Next year, Harry would come of age, and a drink would be celebratory and symbolic. But with Voldemort publicly out and about, there were no guarantees to how long that would last. It would have been depressing to anyone else, but Harry found Sirius’ practicality oddly comforting. Harry was going to do everything possible to tear Voldemort apart. Sirius had accepted it, and had stood beside his decision. Neither knew what the next year would bring, and so they drank out of fear, trust, and with promises on their lips.
Unfortunately, Harry was paying for it now, as he heard several students pass him by to stare at him through the compartment window.
“Quit blocking the hallway!” He heard Seamus’ voice through the door. Harry gave a smirk before he fell asleep.
Ernie rudely interrupted his nap once more later. He held up his hands in protest when Harry gave him a glare. “I know, but Slughorn was insistent that I would give you this message.” He held out a small scroll in his hands.
Harry sat up and opened the note, which invited him to lunch at one. He sighed and made his way down the train, searching for Slughorn. He knocked on the compartment when he found it.
“Harry, your early!” His eyes flicked down to notice to color of Harry’s tie. “You didn’t tell me you were in Slytherin!”
Harry ignored the others that turned to look at him. “I thought you would like a surprise, sir. I wanted to tell you, in person that I can’t attend this afternoon’s meeting. I’m a bit tired, I was talking with Sirius late last night, and all I really want to do is get some sleep.”
Slughorn looked at him shrewdly, and Harry thought the man had seen a few too many drinks of his own to not recognize the symptoms in Harry. “Ah, I see. Well, thank you for telling me. Although I hope that you will take the invitation at a later time?”
Harry politely accepted before leaving. Thank goodness Slughorn wasn’t offended, he really wasn’t in the mood to fake politeness today.
He sat with Daphne and Blaise at the Slytherin table as the first-years were being sorted. Had it really been five years since he had been at the spot? God, sometimes he felt old.
It wasn’t until the feast was finished that he noticed Dumbledore’s right hand, which was heavily wrapped in bandages. It had not been like that, when the man came to pick him up from the Dursley’s over the summer. But it had to be terrible injury; Harry had a hard time believing that Dumbledore would risk causing a panic at this crucial time. Wondering what happened, Harry stood up with the rest of the Slytherins to head back down the Common Room after the feast.
Harry chose to enroll in Transfiguration, Charms, Defense, Arithmacy, and Potions. All of the teachers explained that they enforced silent spellcasting in NEWT classes, and there was a great deal of difficulty in not casting the spell with at least a bit of a mumble. Harry bit on his lip to keep his mouth shut, unwilling to compromise his spellwork. As usual, Hermione was the first one to succeed, followed closely by some of the Ravenclaws, Harry’s results were half-successful, more than many of his fellow classmates. He was confident that he would be able to perform the spells with ease by the end of the year.
He was on his way to lunch when he was approached by Draco.
“Potter,” Draco mumbled. “My father says yes.” He looked tired, there were bags under his eyes, and his hair was a bit disheveled, unlike his normal perfection. Harry gave a nod before he shrugged and walked away. Draco’s business wasn’t really important to him, if he wanted to look a mess that was his own fault. He cared about the elder Malfoy, who agreed to give him a bit of respect. Harry smiled as he served his food, he wouldn’t have to worry about any major issues unless they came directly from Voldemort. He was reasonably certain that he could handle those.
Harry walked into the classroom, smelling some odd odors from the potions that bubbled at the front of the classroom. Blaise made a beeline for a shimmering potion, one that smelled like peaches.
“Who can tell me which potion this is?” Slughorn asked from his fellow classmates. Half of the class turned to Hermione as she raised her hand swiftly, a few of the snickering. Harry listened as Hermione identified each potion, a sense of dread growing inside of him. He had noticed a pattern in these potions, which he supposed was due to the fact he was in more advanced classes.
Amortensia, a strong love potion that threw out reason.
Polyjuice, which turned you into whoever you wanted.
Veritaserum, which told you the answers to any question asked.
And the final potion, Felix Felicis, the lucky potion. It was bottled luck, but Harry could see the truth reflected in the golden potion popped, the exact hue of Desire’s eyes. Felix gave you everything you wanted.
Harry felt strangely suffocated in the warm room. There weren’t nearly as many students in the class as there were before. And Slughorn wasn’t a very intimidating figure. But Harry supposed it had everything to do with his knowledge of the Endless and human nature that made him so hesitant. He knew people, their instincts, inhibitions, and how their mind worked. These potions were a key to give people their most basic desires.
Perhaps Desire hadn’t had a hand in this, and it was only a clever witch or wizard that had craft the spell. But there was a risk into giving into your desires. Harry had used the Polyjuice Potion last year, and Crouch and MacNair had used it the year before. Harry had killed the person he had imitated, Crouch was Kisssed, and MacNair was dead.
Veritaserum told the unvarnished truth, if the victim was weak enough that they couldn’t resist. And the truth could hurt and sting.
Harry didn’t even try to argue with Amortensia’s danger. The rest of his classmates were amused by the idea, but Harry found the idea of forced love revolting. Harry could smell peaches, and the faint smell of a just lit cigarette. The potion was right in front of him, the steam rising in a distinctive shape. Hermione called them spirals, but Harry could see the broken hearts rising.
Slughorn described the danger in using Felix repeatedly, causing a person to loose judgment and reason. People would follow their hearts, gain their desires, and they would think it luck.
He then gave them a task, to create an antidote to a poison. Everyone else headed straight for the cupboard, keen to earn the distinctive gold bottle Slughorn was offering as a prize. But Harry simply sat in his chair, chilled by his revelation.
Desire was everywhere.
If he had really thought about it, it would not have come to such a shock. But he had been keen to avoid anything with wanting and love ever since the incident with the Mirror of Erised. And then when he realized that he couldn’t survive without it, he gave up just a bit of himself in order to stay afloat of the darkness inside of him. However, since Dumbledore’s discussion with him at the end of last year he was constantly noticing its presence.
He could see that Slughorn was giving him a strange look, and so Harry pulled out one of his notebooks, determined to at lest make himself look occupied. As he thumbed through his text, he casually noticed his classmate’s reactions. Ernie was working feverishly, hoping to impress the new teacher with some spectacular display, even though he wouldn’t likely succeed. Terry and Anthony were working together, perhaps hoping that two decent potions would be an acceptable for one good one.
Blaise was working with precise movements, confident in his actions, never raising his eyes to stare at the little bottle on Slughorn’s desk. Hermione had several different items before her, giving glances to Blaise every once in a while to see if he was ahead of her. Theo Nott seemed resigned that he would not win the potion, but was content with displaying a potion that he would not be ashamed of. And Draco’s movements were shaky, it was clear that he wanted the little bottle, possibly more than anyone else.
Harry stared at the pages of his textbook, aware that his classmates didn’t know about the dangers of the little bottle. While he didn’t begrudge anyone having their desires fulfilled for a day, these things had a tendency to spiral out of control and affect other people as well. And in the wrong hands, Felix could be very dangerous. He was glad that most people weren’t good enough to brew this potion. It didn’t take much to destroy people, if Slughorn had only taken it a few times in his entire lifetime.
Moderation was the key, and that was the balance he was trying to reach with the Endless. There was likelihood that the people around him hadn’t learned of that yet, or would waste the opportunity to do something important. He looked at the page in his notebook under the letter “B,” and read the description of the bezoar. Although he wasn’t entirely certain if the potion was dangerous as he thought, he didn’t like the idea of leaving it with anyone else.
Perhaps he could use a little luck.
And so he pulled out his Transfiguration text and began to work on his assignment for the next day. Slughorn gave him a curious look, but said nothing. Right before the time was up, Harry went to the cupboard, withdrew the bezoar from the cabinet and walked back to his seat. When the time was up, Slughorn went to inspect everyone’s potion. He seemed particularly impressed with Hermione’s work, much to Blaise’s annoyance.
“I worked on a potion that would be completed on time, she just threw a bunch of things in the cauldron. That thing would have required three more weeks before it was done!” He said as Harry snickered.
“And what were you doing, Harry as your fellow classmates worked so hard?” Slughorn asked as he twisted Harry textbook around.
“Transfiguration, sir. I was finished early, you see.” He heard Blaise kick his chair leg in annoyance.
“Oh. May I see it?” Harry nodded, and proudly removed the bezoar from his pocket.
Slughorn laughed as Harry’s cleverness, and Harry felt like he knew exactly how to handle the man from hear on out. The tiny golden bottle was in his pocket by the end of the lesson.
“What did you do to him?” demanded Theo.
Harry looked up from his Charms homework. “Eh?”
“What did you do to Draco? He used to have pride. He certainly liked to boast about things, but I haven’t heard a word from him like that since we came back to Hogwarts. Now I hear he’s going to quit the Quidditch team. He’s moping about like another one of your lapdogs.”
“I’ve barely spoken to Draco this year,” Harry commented as he erased a sentence on his parchment. “If I were to hazard a guess, I think that he’s finally learned a lesson on the finer qualities of Dark Lords. Although “finer” is a word subject to interpretation.”
Theo’s expression did not change as he slid in the seat across from Harry. “You killed my grandfather.” He said this in a matter-of-fact tone, his eyes narrowed as he waited for Harry’s reaction.
Harry sighed. He had been lucky all of last year, and the subject had never been asked to his line of questioning. At least, he didn’t think so, but then again he wasn’t entirely lucid last year either. “Your grandfather was in an unfortunate accident due to his close proximity to fire, explosives, and a Dark Lord. It wasn’t personal, and I might have tried to save his life if he wasn’t trying to kill me. You, on the other hand, should take that as a lesson in accountability. Sometimes your actions can hurt unintended parties, so make your choices carefully.”
“Don’t talk about my grandfather like he was some sort of idiot,” Theo replied.
“I was making a bland statement that could apply to anyone. Your grandfather helped a psychotic rise to power, and in the presence of the Dark Lord he was little more than a trained monkey. He made his decision, and eventually you will make yours.”
“And what decision will you make Potter?”
Harry rose from his seat, “I don’t know yet, but I’ll know it when I see it.”
Harry said the password to The Headmaster’s office, and went up the stairs to his first private meeting with Dumbledore. He was a bit nervous; uncertain on the precise reason he was called up.
“Come in, Harry.”
He opened the door and stepped in the room, and glanced at the portraits of the Headmasters. Most of them were snoring, but he saw Phineas open an eye in curiosity, only to snap it back shut when he saw Harry looking at him. Dumbledore was sitting behind a desk, and there was a large bowl placed in front of him. Harry sat at the seat across from him, and Dumbledore observed him in silence before finally speaking, tapping the bowl in front of him with his wand.
“This is called a Pensieve. I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.” Harry nodded in understanding, thinking of the incident at St. Mungo’s last Christmas. “One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure.”
Harry looked at the liquid at the bowl, reflecting the light back at him. “You leave your thoughts in the bowl so that anyone could examine them?” he asked in horror.
“The thoughts can be returned when one is done observing them, but yes, that is a possibility.”
He continued to look at Harry with a grave face, the usual glint of joy absent from his eye.
“When we spoke a few months ago, you told me that you believed that it was inevitable that you are involved in this. Do you still believe that?” Harry nodded. “And what do you know of him?”
Harry hesitated. Did he dare tell the truth, that he was quite possibly the person who understood him the most? That he nearly lost all sense of reason, all understanding of others that he was on the same path as Voldemort? And the only reason he had begun to change was because of the guardian he did not truly know and Desire’s own interference? That sort of information was private and a bit humiliating, and Harry wasn’t willing to tell that to a man he barely knew, leader of the Wizengamot or not. So he told only part of the truth.
“I know what I’ve read in the books, what Sirius has told me. He brought lies, terror, and controlled others with his power. And if he gets a hold of his power once more, it will be almost impossible to stop him.”
“Ah, so you have been doing some of your own investigating into the past. That is good news indeed. In fact, I have done the same thing myself in the past, and now I wish to impart some of that knowledge to you.” He raised a glass vial, in which a silver memory reflected the light.
“Why?” Harry asked in awe, not understanding Dumbledore’s openness.
“As you have said, Voldemort is quite irritated with your continued existence. In fact, the prophecy that Voldemort sought mentions that very same belief.” He raised his hand as Harry began to speak. “I know you do not wish to hear the contents of it, but I will be brief. You know the public is quite fond of you Harry. I read your interview in The Daily Prophet over the summer, and I found the story a bit embellished. However, when I arrived at the Ministry that day I found people in better spirits. You gave them hope. I assume that was your original intention?” Harry nodded, shoving the idea of Malfoy’s torture to the back of his mind.
“People have begun to talk of you now in whispers, The Chosen One. They are not aware of the prophecy, but the idea has arisen in their head because of your past confrontations against Voldemort. However, this thought is not carried by a majority of the populace. They view you as an example of what must be done, and they draw strength from each other, the rumors of your destiny have been brushed aside.
“The prophecy does say that you will have the ability to defeat Voldemort. But the prophecy does not mention you by name, but rather by a series of vague descriptions that applied to more than one person. The thing that makes the prophecy true is Voldemort’s belief that it is true, which will give you the opportunity to his defeat.” Harry’s neck prickled, he was aware of Dream’s hand in the matter, that belief and ideas shape reality
“His determination to attack you, and your equal need to stop him makes it a very likely possibility that one of you will finish the other. This is something you are already aware of, but I say this plainly so you understand why I have asked you up here. We must delve into the Lord Voldemort’s past so we can discover and understand the man who stands against us.”
“To know others is to be wise,” Harry replied, one of the Lessons leaving his lips before he had begun to process Dumbledore’s statement.
“Precisely. I have spent some time searching for the memories of those who once knew him. A tedious task because many are unwilling, out of fear. However, I have managed to procure some of these memories, and as we explore them, I hope that you will understand Voldemort’s great flaw.”
“I thought you said it was Love,” Harry replied in a dry tone, unable to keep the contempt from his voice.
Dumbledore’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Yes, I did. Knowing his weakness is not the same as understanding, something you have not quite reached yet. And it is something that I hope to impart to you when we are finished at the end of the year. You may proceed into this memory with me, Harry.
Harry and Dumbledore watched the memory in the Penseive, and saw the Gaunt family. He wasn’t very interested in the Gaunts, at first. They were dirty, and crass, and had clear signs of being inbred. His interest wasn’t peaked until the father approached the Ministry wizard to show him the ring in his hand.
“Know how much I’ve been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?” said Marvolo. Harry stiffened, recognizing the name immediately. Stepping forward, he noticed the ring on his hand, a large black stone, with an engraving of the sign of the Deathly Hallows.
He tried to speak, but his tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth. He shoved the thought to the back of his head, and began to pay keen attention to the scene in front of him once more. Decedents of Salazar Slytherin… the Riddle Family… the accent to the words that sounded like hissing…
He thought that Dumbledore was going to show him the keys to Voldemort’s past, but he didn’t think the man would be so thorough. At any moment he expected a young boy to come with a smile and a lie. He didn’t think that Dumbledore would have gone so far as to retrieve a memory that occurred before Voldemort was born.
A small measure of his respect for Dumbledore grew.
When the memory was over, they landed back in the room. Harry flopped back in the chair, exhausted with the importance of the information presented in front of him. Dumbledore seemed to understand his confusion and waited for Harry to speak up first.
“They were speaking Parseltongue, and I heard of Riddle before. Does that mean that was Voldemort’s family?”
Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, Marvolo was his grandfather, Merope the mother, and the young man was Riddle’s father.”
“I doubt that Riddle was in love with Merope, she wasn’t the prettiest thing and he seemed to having nothing but disdain for the family. I take it she forced him with magic somehow, a love potion, Imperius Curse. I don’t think she could have blackmailed him somehow; she didn’t seem to have much personality. Like she was held back her whole life by an ignorant father.” Harry tapped his fingers on the armchair absentmindedly, trying to ignore Dumbledore’s observant gaze. “I don’t know if there’s any sort of plant that effects the mind like that, I’m not in Herbology anymore. Then again, that sort of thing is probably used in a potion. Of course, I guess that’s not really the point of why you showed me that.”
Dumbledore chuckled. “Ah, now I see how you managed to avoid trouble, you are a very patient person. You observe the information presented before you and quietly come to your conclusions. Professor Snape informed me that you had already known how to practice Occlumency last year. At the time, I believed him to be a bit… vehement with his protests, but now I see that he was speaking the truth.”
“There are many reasons why I chose to show this memory to you Harry. The first reason is to demonstrate the reason that Lord Voldemort came to be raised in a Muggle Orphanage. Merope Gaunt did enchant Tom to love her, and I believed she eventually broke the spell, herself. Perhaps it was grief because it was not real, or because she hoped that the birth of her child would cause Tom to stay, I do not know. However, it was not to be and Tom eventually came back to his home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left pregnant and alone and I think you would agree that she had no one to support her.”
Harry snorted.
“And so, Tom was raised in an Orphanage, not knowing of his magical heritage, nor of the father that left him.”
“He was better off if you ask me,” Harry replied. “They weren’t anything to be proud of. He had a fresh start with the Muggles, and he wouldn’t have to hear that Pureblood crap every day.”
“And yet, Lord Voldemort chose to cling to those very beliefs as he rose to power.”
Harry grimaced. “Are you trying to confuse me?”
Dumbledore smiled. “No. I wanted to demonstrate the convoluted thinking that Voldemort adheres to. He believed in the prophecy, and his actions created a person determined to stop him. He believes himself the most powerful wizard to have ever lived, and yet he follows the old beliefs that make him like every other Dark Wizard.”
“It’s like a circle,” Harry said, looking at the ring from the vision that sat on the table on the other side of the room.
“Yes, and every circle returns to its beginning point. Which is precisely what you and I are doing.”
Harry rose from his seat walked over to ring and picked up to see it better. There was a large crack in the stone, but Harry could clearly see the sign of the Deathly Hallows inscribed on it. Outwardly, he showed no reaction, aware that Dumbledore still was not very comfortable around him, not after he turned the fake prophecy into a Portkey. But Harry wanted to laugh as he had when he discovered the Chamber of Secrets with Ron and Hermione. He thought about his childhood dream to prove there was truth in stories.
Marvolo was a naïve man, he had little value for anything more than blood and sons. It was unlikely that he would have been exposed to books and stories, never mind about hearing of the story that followed his line. It was easy to see that he would have overlooked the magical importance of what was tied to his finger. Instead, Marvolo Gaunt had placed importance on a meaningless title of blood purity. Many people had longed to bring back the dead; never knowing the famed Resurrection Stone was on a ring of a half-mad family. Then again, it was a perfect sort of hiding place, in plain sight, with those who would never consider it important. The Invisibility Cloak had stayed in the exact place implied in the story, passed down from father to son, to daughter, until it was with Harry.
That left the third Hallow, the Elder Wand, lost in history to those who killed to attain it.
He twirled to stone casually around his finger, once, twice, and then Dumbledore removed it from his hands. He wondered if Dumbledore had timed it on purpose, or if it was coincidence. If he had spun the ring one more time would he have been able to raise the dead? Perhaps the stone would only work if it were removed from the ring first.
Not that it really mattered. Dumbledore had stopped him and Harry didn’t know who he would raise from to dead anyway.
“So, why did you place the ring here?” He asked, not hiding his confusion.
“That is a question for another time Harry. After all, it is getting late, and I think that you would like to have some time with your friends.”
Harry recognized the dismissal and left the room. And as he walked back to the Slytherin room, he thought of the Stone and the Cloak, never realizing that the Elder Wand was in Dumbledore’s hand.
A/N: I hope this isn't too bad, one of my revised drafts is trapped on ff.net.